A CHRISTMAS PARTY

Emalina scowled at the Christmas do email.  It looked like something more fitting for Hallowe’en; dinner at a theme park hotel after a ride on the ghost train.  Alice who was into all that nonsense had been the organiser. 

 

The sound of giggling trickled round the open plan office as the team read the email.  Emalina looked up sharply and everyone went back to what they were doing, except Natalie who was approaching, a determined smile on her face.

“Excuse me, Emalina, I was wondering if you could spare a moment?”
“If it’s to listen to an idea you have about making the company more money or a sales contract you’ve brought in, I’ve got all the time in the world.  I’ve noticed you haven’t been as productive as when we first employed you.  Don’t get too comfortable will you?”
“Actually, it’s about a sponsored sky dive I’m doing in January – I know brrr! - for the children’s charity I raise money for.  I was wondering how much I could put you down for.”
“Nothing.”
“It’s a centre for child victims of domestic violence.  It gives them and their Mums a safe place to stay and …”
“The men are aggressors and the women are fools,” Emalina interrupted, “their children will grow up to be one or the other, why should I help?   Alex, you’re staring at me.”
“I’m admiring your strong stance, Emalina,” Alex replied smoothly as Natalie hurried back to her desk, “are you going to the Christmas do?”
“Yes.  I need to keep an eye on you all,” Emalina got to her feet and walked slowly into the centre of the office.  Once she was satisfied she had everyone’s attention, she added; “At the Christmas do there will be no wine on the tables, no free bar, it will be a teetotal affair and it will finish before 2230 hours.  Gloria, you’re an intern, you don’t get to come.”

 

On the day of the Christmas do, Alice, Alex, Natalie, James and Lucy walked to the theme park from work.
“If we’re not there directly she’ll suspect we’ve had a drink,” Lucy said.
“I’m walking as fast as I can,” replied Natalie tottering on her high heels.
“So awful about Ashley, fired before Christmas,” Lucy continued.
“And she’s told Gloria she’s got to work tomorrow, so she can’t fly out to her family for Christmas Day.  The poor girl doesn’t even get paid!” James added.
“Our intervention will save them,” Alice stated, dressed in white as always and looking ethereal.
“Your intervention,” Alex said, “sounds like weird shit to me.  James, she said she didn’t like that Christmas tie, take it off.”
“I’ll put it on after she’s been on the ghost train,” James said because he had faith in Alice.
Emalina was waiting at the theme park entrance, looking round anxiously.  When she saw them, her face hardened; “What time do you call this?”
“I was slow in my heels,” Natalie replied.  Looking around she could see why Emalina had been rattled, a dark, deserted theme park, with the ghost train and restaurant open for one winter evening just for them.  Alice’s friends ran the place, but there was no comfort from knowing that.

A man approached the theme park gate and opened it; his face was hidden in the hood of his raincoat.  Despite this, Alice recognised him; “Hi Kevin.”
They followed Kevin past the deserted rides, to the ghost train.
“This looks rather neglected,” commented Emalina, “are you sure it’s safe?”
“Yes,” Kevin replied.
“I don’t want to get on it,” Lucy shivered.
“Anyone who doesn’t get on it doesn’t go to the meal,” Emalina stated, “I assume you all decided among yourselves this was what we’re going to do, so you can all suffer the consequences.”
Her staff got into their separate cars, each with a different kind of creature of the night on it.  The last carriage had a vampire, Emalina chose that one.

 

One by one the cars were spat into a dark tunnel, Emalina heard the screams of her staff, Lucy’s and Natalie’s sounded particularly frightened.  Good.  Emalina’s carriage jolted, interrupting her thoughts and she hurtled into the dark.  She couldn’t see anything at first only feel spiders’ webs caressing her face.  Then she saw her mother just as she remembered her with her limp blonde hair and watery eyes, a weak and cowed woman.  Towering over her was her father, barrel chested and brawny, dirty from working on the farm.  He was shouting that his dinner had been burned, he smashed a fist into her mother’s face and her mother fell knocking over the Christmas tree, banging her head on the hearth.  She saw the tiny form watching from behind the bannisters, calling; “Mummy?  Mummy?”

“Shut up, Emalina!” roared her father, aiming a kick at her mother’s prone form, then he thought better of it and knelt down; “Marion?  You OK?”  But her mother was not OK.
The carriage rattled past, showing her all the places she’d lived in as she’d grown up in care; the Henleys who had made her do all the housework, the Bensons who had told her she’d never make anything of herself and the Crockets who were lovely alcoholics.

The carriage roared round a corner into blazing light and Emalina saw her own front room.  Her husband was sitting on a sofa with Patricia the woman who lived next door, they were kissing passionately.

“She’ll be late home, she’s got this Christmas do,” her husband was saying, “she’s working tomorrow too but I’ve got the day off.  We can see each other…”
“But not Christmas day,” Patricia had the cheek to look disappointed.
“That’s the only day of the year the bitch doesn’t work.  We can text though and I’ll see you again Boxing Day, she always checks the accounts then.”
The carriage continued, Emalina saw her children tucked up in bed, oblivious to what was happening downstairs.  Her youngest son was awake; “Mummy, want Mummy,” he was whispering in the dark.  Emalina reached out her hand to touch his, but her fingers went right through him.
The carriage careered on and Emalina saw the living room of a cheap flat and the body of Ashley hanging from the light fitting.  A note was next to his body and she caught the words ‘Losing my job was the last straw …”, before the ride whirled on.
Then she saw Gloria’s kitchen, the intern was unloading her shopping; turkey for one, Christmas pudding for one, a mini bottle of bubbly …

Gradually the present faded into the future.  Emalina was at her own funeral – Alex and James were there, nobody else, but the mahogany coffin was beautiful and the flowers, oh the flowers!

“Well, at least the bitch is getting the send-off she wanted,” Alex said, his rich voice still the same, even though his hair was white.
“Yeah, all these flowers.  She left it in her will, don’t give any money to charity, buy me flowers,” James shook his head, “she never changed.”
“Did she leave you anything?”
“Not a penny.  You?”
“Nothing.”
“But you were her PA all these years!”
Alex shrugged; “I got paid for it.”
The carriage moved on, Emalina saw her sons, successful and sharp suited, in her empty house, sorting through her possessions, counting what they would inherit, satisfaction honeying their voices.
“I hate funerals,” Edmond was saying, “Mummy won’t mind us not going.”
“No,” agreed Eustace, “and she was never there for us, so why should we be there for her?”

 

The carriage hurtled its way back into the theme park and Emalina could breathe again.  She alighted from the ride, face flushed.  She could see the eyes of her co-workers upon her and she smiled genuinely for the first time in years.

“How was it?” Alex asked.
“Very good,” she replied, “a very personal experience, I wonder how that was done.”
“I didn’t get a personal experience,” James stated.
“Well, you’re not very important, are you?” Emalina said, “right, what time is it?  Eight o’clock, let’s get this dinner over with.  Remember what I said, I want you fresh as daisies in work tomorrow, I know it’s Christmas Eve and in past years you’ve expected to leave early, but let me re-iterate it’s a day the same as any other, you come in at eight, twelve hours from now and you leave at six with half an hour for lunch, so no going to the pub.”
Her staff looked so disappointed; Alice especially looked as if she might cry.
“Well, you’re getting Christmas day off!” Emalina said.
At the table in the hotel, Emalina made sure she sat next to Alice; “Alice, tell me how you managed to make the ride so relevant? “ She raised her voice, “Do you know what everyone?  I’m proud of myself.  I didn’t have the best start, but I’m a self-made woman.  Sure, I’ve made some ruthless decisions and perhaps there have been casualties, but you can’t be successful and not cause some collateral.  My sons are going to grow up to be fine, independent men - especially after I’ve made a few adjustments at home.  Great heads up about my husband, Alice, I’m impressed.  James, take off that dreadful tie!”

THE TWO PRESIDENTS

The announcement came at 3.30am; Magdread the Mighty was the new President of the Democratic Kingdom of Peasants with Torches.  His was an unprecedented victory over the Aristocrats, nobody could remember the last time a Peasant was elected, let alone one from the feared Warrior class.  Protesters took to the streets chanting “Not my President!”

 

In the morning, the grey faced Aristocrats gathered to watch Magdread’s speech, their eyes darting from side to side.

Magdread spoke honestly to the fearful people, saying he’d unite them all - the Warriors, Farmers, Office Peasants and Aristocrats.  He recognised the need for change that led to his election, but admitted that he hadn’t expected victory and would be asking for help.  This attempt at humility was his first mistake.

 

When he returned to his cave, gilded with the spoils of a thousand battles and decorated with the skulls of his enemies, Magdread was informed that the Aristocrats had come.  Magdread was tired, he wanted to eat, drink and sleep in the arms of his favourite concubine, Woman the Silent, but he also knew he must not turn the Aristocrats away.  He sat in his great chair and welcomed the grey men, allowing them to sit in his presence, offering them the services of his women, which they declined.

 “Magdread the Mighty,” the elder stated, “we fear you’d find running a country boring.  There are lots of meetings and journeys to foreign lands where you could not take your concubines or drink wine.  You would have to make decisions over trivial matters.  We suggest you have another President behind the scenes to deal with these things.  Then you could focus on the war with the Kingdom of Isis.”
Magdread stroked his beard, this sounded reasonable, he could focus on chopping off the heads of his enemies and raping their women; “Who will this be?” he asked.
A man stepped forward out of the shadows, immaculately dressed in a tailored suit; “I’m Derek.”
Magdread’s eyes narrowed, he distrusted Office Peasants, but at least it was not an Aristocrat.
“Don’t Magdread,” his least favourite concubine, Woman the Opinionated whispered, “this man is controlled by Aristocrats.”
“Silence woman!”  Magdread roared, “you are decoration not counsel!  Bring wine for Derek, he will be second President!”

 

At first Magdread was pleased, he rode to battle against the Kingdom of Isis and when he got home he bullied his slaves and exploited his concubines.  However, one day he returned to find Derek with some documents for him to sign.  “You don’t need to read them, I’ve already done so.”

Magdread snatched the papers, read them and threw them into the fire.  “You were cancelling the things the people want me to do.”
“The people don’t really want to eat raw meat, Mr President,” said Derek, “they just say they do.  Making it law that every woman has a son is ludicrous; as is the burning of places that provide an end to unwanted pregnancies.  Further, the wall you want to build between here and the Unhappy Kingdom of Poverty is lunacy, how will the migrants get through?  The migrants are useful, they will work for next to nothing.”
“If we leave employment laws as they are and shout at them loud enough our people will work for nearly nothing,” argued Magdread.
“Magdread,” Derek said softly, “listen.”
The cave went silent, Magdread could hear the chants outside it; “Not my President!  Not my President!”
“If you put an end to these proposals, these people will love you as your Warriors do …”
“But the people voted …”
“They don’t know what they want.  Trust me, I know these things.  I am the second President and you swore you would listen to me.  I’ve written a speech for you to give tomorrow.  I’ll be with you; I will stand beside the podium.”

 

The next day Magdread reluctantly delivered his speech, telling the people they must cook their meat, that women could still get rid of unwanted pregnancies and that the wall would not be built.  Afterwards there was silence, even his faithful Warrior Peasants were glaring at him.

“Coward!” someone shouted.
“Liar!”
“You said those things so we would vote for you!”
Something caught in Magdread’s peripheral vision, he saw an Aristocrat shaking Derek’s hand.
“I’ve been tricked!” he cried, tearing up the speech, “I was told you didn’t really want these things, but you do!”
“Is it true there is a second President?”  It was the cunning voice of Woman the Opinionated.
“Yes!” cried Magdread, “they told me he would act for me so I could fight Isis!”
Derek began backing away from the edge of the podium, but in three great strides, Magdread had caught him; “Here he is, the Office Peasant!  The most elite of all Peasants!  He eats avocado for breakfast, he lets his woman advise him, he goes to the theatre in the evenings and insists that we treat migrants fairly!  He saves his gold and aspires to be an Aristocrat!”
A chant arose from the Warriors and Farmers; “Kill him!  Kill him!”
The Office Peasants and Aristocrats tried to flee from the room, but the Warriors barred their way.

“This is the beginning of a new era,” Magdread the Mighty proclaimed as he slit Derek’s throat; “an end to elitism, tolerance and diversity.  Death to the intellectuals, death to those who would say they are above us!  Kill them my people!  Kill them all!”

THOSE PEOPLE

Amy turned the air conditioning up in her brand new SUV, she checked the children were belted in and drove home through the summer heat.  On the motorway the traffic was crawling and warning signs showed that there were people on the carriage way.
“What’s happening Mummy?” demanded Aurora.
“Just a traffic jam,” Amy could see ahead.  People were walking along the hard shoulder with the traffic crawling past them.  They were painfully thin and unwashed, their clothes ragged, they carried what looked like the last of their possessions on their shoulders.
“Aurora, Elliot, don’t look out of the window darlings,” Amy ordered, “just play on your Ipads, we’ll soon be home.”
Aurora obeyed, but Elliot took a tentative peek.  His eyes met with those of a child his age, she looked frightened and hungry, her hair was matted, her dress torn.
“Mummy, who are those people?” he demanded in a tone he’d heard Daddy use.
“They’re nothing to do with us,” she replied, “we’re nearly passed them.”

At home, Amy left the children playing in the conservatory and turned on the news.

“Those people need our help.  They’re not here because they want to be, they’ve been forced to leave their homes and they’ve paid all of their money to come where it’s safe.”
Amy tutted and turned the channel over.  The front door slammed, James was home.  “Did you see those people?” Amy asked.
“Yeah, it’s getting bad isn’t it?” he replied putting down his laptop bag, “they said it wouldn’t be long before they came here.  Did the children see them?”
“I told them not to look, but Elliot didn’t do what he was told.”
James sighed; “We’ll put curtains on the back windows of the SUV, just for now, while the crisis is going on.”

 

Amy was glad about the curtains on the SUV the next day, the people were no longer on the motorway, but camped in the field opposite her house.  They could be seen from the garden.  After she took the children to school she called the Police.

“We’re doing what we can,” came the response, “give us time to process them.”
She went out into the garden and saw her neighbour coming up the path.
“Dreadful isn’t it?” Julie said, “our house prices are going to drop.  I wish the Police would do something about those people.”
The two women watched as two of the children in the field shared a tiny piece of bread between them, splitting it exactly in two.
“Is that gluten free?” wondered Amy.
“Irresponsible to give children bread and nothing else,” tutted Julie.
They felt unable to stay in the garden and despite the lovely weather went inside to drink tea.  When the children came back, Amy pulled all the curtains closed and told them they could not play outside.
“But Mum, the summer holidays have just started!” complained Elliot.
“It won’t be forever,” said Amy, “go and play in the conservatory.”  She had drawn all the electric blinds in the conservatory so the children couldn’t see out and neither could she or James.
James arrived home, his face was dark with anger; “One of those people jumped in front of my Audi and begged for food!” he exclaimed.
“That’s horrifying!  What did you do?” Amy cried.
“What could I do?  I swerved round her, nearly hit her, she could have been killed.”
“Those people  are crazy,” Amy said, “and they’re saying on the news that we should welcome them, it’s ludicrous!  Julie says house prices are going to be affected …”
“She’s right,” James said grimly, “I guess we’ll be stuck indoors all summer.”
“Mummy!” cried Elliot.
James and Amy ran into the conservatory.
“Someone tapped on the window!” cried Aurora, tears in her eyes.
James raised the electric blind a little; “They’re in the garden,” he said.
 Elliot gasped.  Outside they heard a chant growing in volume; “Help us, please help us!”
Amy went into the house and returned with three sets of headphones, she connected two pairs to the children’s Ipads and put them over their heads, she kept the third set for herself. “They can’t get in,” she said, “we’re safe in here.  Children, listen to music, Daddy’s going to call the Police again.”

MISS HOPKINS GARDEN

Angela despaired of her mother, she was always over-reacting.  When they were driving to Miss Hopkins’ house she shrieked at Dad for breaking the speed limit.  He only went one mile an hour over, but she shouted at him about losing his licence and worse what if he ran someone over and even worse what if that someone was a child?  They arrived at an old Victorian house to help a crazy old lady with her gardening.  Mother led the way round the side, through a yard and a gate into an untidy garden which they were going to weed.

 

Despite the fact they’d only be gardening, Mother had insisted that Angela wear a dress and she herself wore some fussy tweed trousers and blazer.  “Miss Hopkins likes people to look smart,” she’d explained.  Dad wasn’t having any of it; he was gardening and so wore jeans and an old shirt.

While Mother and Dad got their gardening tools ready, Angela looked towards the house, it was huge on three storeys with big windows.  The old lady was watching them from upstairs, her white hair straight and short, a pair of spectacles perched on her nose.  She was in a black dress buttoned to the neck.  She did not wave and she did not smile.  Angela looked away uneasily; “Can I go and play?”

Mother looked up from the border she was getting started on; “Won’t you help?”
“I’m wearing a dress!”
“Go and play then, but don’t go into the greenhouse.”
“Why?”
“Well,” Mother lowered her voice, “Miss Hopkins is a bit doolally in her old age.  She saw mice in there and started to leave cheese for them.  Unfortunately this attracted rats and they got really big from eating the cheese, giant even.  You don’t want to be eaten by a giant rat, do you?”
Angela laughed scornfully and glanced at her Dad who rolled his eyes. 

 

Angela skipped up the shrub bounded path, her parents’ voices becoming fainter with distance.  The greenhouse was at the very end of the garden, old, shabby and neglected full of pots with dead plants in them.  There was no way there were giant rats though, Mother was exaggerating like she always did.  However, something slowed Angela’s approach and made her creep to the door; she told herself it was because she was doing something she shouldn’t.  She peered through the glass door.  The cutest brown mouse ever was nibbling cheese from a saucer.  Angela wanted to hold the mouse like she held her hamster.  She pushed open the door and crept into the still heat that smelt of decay.  The mouse didn’t run, Angela moved closer to it and heard the door bang shut in the wind behind her.  She reached out her hand and the mouse suddenly quailed and uttering a high pitched squeak it scurried away.  Angela straightened, a prickling sense of dread overcoming her.  Very slowly she turned, behind her was a rat as tall as her father, standing on its hind legs, teeth bared.  She screamed for Mother, but the sound was muffled by the heat and the glass.

 

Mother and Dad came up the garden to look for her; “I told her not to go into that greenhouse,” Mother said, “I bet she went straight to it.”

They peered through the glass door.  All that remained were Angela’s red shoes.
Mother sighed; “I don’t know how we’re going to explain this to the Police.  They’re going to think it was us, aren’t they?  They’re going to arrest us and the Court will find us guilty and we’ll end our days in prison.  I told her, didn’t I?  No-one ever listens to me.”

THE HOUSES

Bella and Martin Shaw were so excited to move into the new estate.  It was paradise, on the edge of a village, surrounded by green hills with a river nearby.  They were one of the first families and Freddie and Grace loved playing in the quiet streets.  They were almost reluctant to go on the three week holiday.  Bella spent the time relaxing on the beach dreaming of colour schemes and Martin talked about getting a garden shed.

The taxi picked them up at the airport and dropped them two miles from home at the start of a traffic queue.

“I can’t take you no further,” said the driver.

“What do you mean?” Martin demanded, “We’ve got money.”

“Not enough to get me to drive into there,” he laughed, “one road in, one road out, ridiculous planning!”

The Shaws got out of the cab, paid the driver and began walking, carrying their luggage, Grace complaining bitterly.  The line of traffic continued, angry faces staring ahead, music blaring, a mambo of stop start, Martin noticed they kept pace with the same black BMW all the way home.

“This is worrying,” Bella said.

“I’m sure they’ll build another road,” Martin responded.

Bella wasn’t sure, she hadn’t seen a place where a road could go, unless they cut through the hills.

At home, the once quiet streets were full of parked cars, their driveway was blocked.  They tried to order takeaway, only to be told the restaurant didn’t deliver to that estate, nobody did.  They would have to collect it.  A miserable evening followed, Martin knocking on doors, finding the owner of the car, getting him to move it, driving into town and collecting the food.  The queue was still there 8pm and by the time he got the takeaway back it had to be warmed in the microwave.

On Monday Martin left for work on his bicycle, weaving through a huge queue of traffic that Bella joined.  She sat with Grace and Fred watching the time pass.  She cheered herself up with memories of the brochure from the Building Company that had promised a new school, a park and space for a new supermarket.  No more sitting in traffic to take the children to school, they could walk to the new one; no more worries about supermarkets and takeaways refusing to deliver, the supermarket would sell everything and maybe a chip shop would be built.  Over the weeks she endured complaints from her boss and the inevitable letter from the current school telling her they wouldn’t put up with her lateness.  Martin was cross though; “Can’t you get up earlier?”

Bella turned on him; “You try getting Grace and Freddie up for 6am!”

He held up his hands; “I’ll go to my shed.”

Bella followed him into the garden and stopped in horror, the garden shed had been knocked down, the children’s trampoline slashed and the walls of the house daubed with graffiti; GET OUT.

“I’m sorry, we can’t come round,” the Police operator told them, “we’ll only come into the Estate for 999 calls.  We will investigate.  It’s likely to be the people who live in the Old Village, since the new houses have been built there’s been a lot of anger.  They blame you for the increase in traffic, it’s affecting them too.  Ridiculous planning.  One road in and one out.”

After she had cleaned the graffiti off the wall, Bella walked into the centre of the housing estate where the new school was going to be.  Something was being built there.

“Is this the new school?” she asked a builder.

“More houses,” he replied, “nearly finished now.”

“But I thought there was going to be a new school, a park and space for a supermarket.”

“More houses,” he said.

“But the brochure …”

“We’ve changed our minds.  We had to tell the Council we’d build a school to get planning permission, but they’re not going to knock down all these houses, are they?  Not now they’re sold.”

“I hope they fine you!” cried Bella.

“It won’t dent our profit,” he replied, “they’re giving away flood plain land and the materials we used to build the houses were ever so cheap.”

“Flood plain …”

“Should’ve done your research,” the builder walked away.

Bella turned for home as the first fat drops of rain fell from a leaden sky.